


Light at the end

by AnnaCipactli12



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 18:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaCipactli12/pseuds/AnnaCipactli12
Summary: The Night's King needs a queen and he chooses an unlikely candidate but after the great war is over, she falls into enemy hands and what follows is a series of events that make her question everything and everyone she's put her trust in. Will there be light at the end of the tunnel this time?





	Light at the end

Mary begged them not to burn her. The men turned their eyes away from the disgusting sight. “Talk to my father! He cannot let this happen.”

Charles Brandon barely looked at her, those who did chortled while others whispered to their companions ‘how could she have birthed her?’ _I am the blood of the dragon, the lion, and I am like my great-grandmother, hard as iron. I will not bend._ But bend she did.

As the flames begun to consume her, she began to fade. She wasn’t ice, neither was she fire. She was a woman who played for keeps, she succeeded for a while until her luck run out. She was not like Jon, first of his name of Houses Targaryen and Stark. He was the embodiment of ice and fire, a bastard with luck on his side, whose stupidity was never questioned because he was the Lord’s chosen.

 _And I was not._ Despite everything she did, she still lost. Her faith was the only thing that kept her alive during her teenage years after her mother had died and her name was practically forbidden. She was treated like a pariah, avoided like the plague. During those times Eustace Chapuys was the only who showed her kindness. One day, he promised her that he would get her out of England if he accepted her cousin’s terms of invading and marrying her distant cousin and friend, Reginald Pole.

She had not seen Reginald in years and the thought of innocent blood being spilled in her name frightened her. Not so much because of the number of lives that would be lost, but because what it would mean for her spiritual well-being. As time went on however, she began to rethink his proposal but by then, it was too late.

Eustace Chapuys had died, and with a great war looming across the narrow sea, and countries being overtaken by armies of the dead, the emperor began to care less about he problems.

Mary decided to make her move and escape. It took her more than three weeks but she finally reached the coast of Spain. Her hopes were shattered when she began to feel a cold wind and saw that the fog circling the port was no fog at all, but an oncoming winter storm. She was taken to the castle where her mother once lived and stood. There, she met the Night’s King. He sensed what she wanted and the darkness she carried, and like the others, had taken advantage of that to further his ambitions and she, hell-bent on revenge, gave in.

The rest as Master Vives would say, is history.  The Night’s King was not a dark lord invested on world domination. He wanted to destroy everything that stood in his path because like her, he was driven by revenge. He had become disillusioned with the world of men, and the magical creatures that had corrupted him. In his view, everyone who wasn’t him, he was destroyer and protector. As long as man existed, the world was in danger and anyway -he’d told her- mankind was destined to destroy themselves so might as well accelerate the process before they take the whole world with them.

Jon and Daenerys Targaryen couldn’t bring themselves to understand this. She did and she tried to act as a mediator between both sides, believing that if she could reach a peace between the two races, that she could stop a greater catastrophe but she was wrong.

Everyone was too busy playing their own games -games within games -they called them- to care about the greater threat looming on the horizon. Mary did reach one person. After the second age of heroes was over, she met with her father again. At first, he believed her story but men began whispering in his ear and when the new Queen of Westeros revealed her unholy alliance with the Night’s King, she was bound and gagged, and driven from her private chambers and thrown in the tower of London.

She screamed day and night. She had no ladies or servants to bring her mead and food. They thought that she wouldn’t last but she did. After the ninth day, they began bringing her food but they were careful not to touch her skin.

Outside she watched a block being constructed and a sword being fashioned of dragon glass and Valyrian still. Mary would pray to her God day and night, begging him for forgiveness; hoping that if she closed her eyes and woke up the following day, she’d find that this was all an awful dream.

But every day she woke up to face the same harsh reality. And every time she’d return to her usual routine and every time she’d get no answer from her god.

On the eighth month, she gave up all hope. They took the only thing that mattered, a reminder of her struggles and where her last remaining hopes rested upon.

“I am sorry.” She did not know why she should be sorry for. Had she relished in the thought of killing innocents like her father, her cousin or countless others. She didn’t enjoy cruelty except when it was visited upon those that had harmed her loved ones, or threatened the well-being of her adopted people.

She was known for her frivolity and her icy heart. Simple-minded fools. They did not know what lay beneath her stone heart. She had seen through the Night’s King and his generals. She could have used that information to destroy the whole lot but she chose to opt for a middle approach, believing that it would get them what they wanted.

It turned out that the Night’s King was so far gone, that he could not stand for anyone opposing him, even those that meant the most to him.

Mary told him about the lands his armies destroyed, what they had been, and the fate that awaited what was left of this green earth if he continued, but his response was the same as before. Humans abandoned us, your kind will never see us as equal and the children of the forest are the true owners of your accursed land and I finished them off. It is ours now and nothing will stand in our way -She could do nothing but sigh and sit in the ice chair he had fashioned for her next to his.

She cursed herself. Mary hardly used foul language. Everyone around her did, but she was better than that. Blasphemy was something they were more concerned with. Not her; her god had abandoned her. And just as he predicted, so had her family.

“Cast out like a leper.” She said to herself. Her hands were cold as ice, she could have frozen the bars months ago and jump from the window and nothing would happen to her. But if she had done that, she would have put something greater at risk. She would not have been able to live with herself if she had caused such tragedy. For it was a tragedy, the last vestige of a great people that would serve as a cautionary tale for future generations.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal bars. Spikes drew cold blood which turned into red icicles once they hit the floor. The guards were alarmed when they heard a big clank. They were confused. What were these gems? Surely, such beauty couldn’t have come from this ice demon?

Mary told them not to worry, “My blood will not harm you.” They put on gloves and took her blood gem drops away. They would throw it in the fire no doubt then report it to Cranmer who in turn would report it to her father.

How had she had gotten in this mess? If only, she kept telling herself over and over again until she grew tired and let herself fall into the land of Morpheus. She was rudely awakened the following morning by her new prison guards. They escorted her to the block.  The sun was barely up. The people gathered had their gaze slightly upwards. When the sun rose completely, they turned to her.

“I will not explode into flames. That is not within my nature.” She told them, giving them a half-grin. Her lips, red as blood, her blue crystal, her porcelain skin, and red hair which had become lighter since her transformation, frightened many of them.

 _Good._ If I cannot inspire fear by my words, my looks will suffice. She knelt down and opted to say very little. “Good Christian people,” she smirked, “I come here to die. Many of you will not shed a tear for me and that is fine by me, for I have already done that for you. Those who council the King have deemed me unworthy to live among you.” She paused. She thought she saw a younger version of herself in the red-haired teenager standing next to her father, her arm linked around his. A beautiful illusion, but an illusion nonetheless. She resumed her speech, “I do not apologize for my behavior that caused the King and others in my family much heartache. Indeed, all of you will not remember the princess or the bastard because you’ve already made up your minds about me. But let me tell you before they cut me down that I do not fear death. I have seen what lies beyond this world and there is nothing, absolutely nothing to offer us any consolation.”

Another pause.

“It is all just an empty, meaningless void. That is not what you want to hear but I say it regardless of what you wish because just as I am standing here before you, brought low by the King’s grace, you too have no power over your lives.” Their gazes hardened _. Let them be angry, I want their thoughts of me to be of pure discontent. “_ Winter came and winter went. I offended the King’s grace and I offend you with my presence so without further ado, I wish that you pray for me.”

Everyone thought this request was odd. A woman who had sold her soul to devil asking them to have mercy on her?

They knelt anyway. They reached the conclusion that if anyone deserved to be saved, it was her. She was her mother’s daughter and surely, Katharine’s goodness hadn’t all been stripped away by the Night’s King.  that if anyone could be saved, was her. Many of them still remembered her mother, the kind, gentle soul who had given alms to the poor and the warrior queen who had secured their Northern borders when she defeated the Scots’ King and his army.

The flower of the Highlands’ chivalry was struck down by a woman -it was sung on the streets of London. The Scots never forgot, especially their Queen, who swore that everything she did from that moment on would be to undermine her sister-in-law. Mary was glad her aunt was dead. She would have been cut down much sooner if she was still alive. Despite their animosity, her father had corresponded regularly with his older sister and if there was someone who would’ve have convinced him sooner to turn against her, it would have been Queen Margaret.

It was no use reminiscing of old rivals, even when those rivals where your family. After they finished their prayer, Mary was given a leathery pouch by one of the guards. She gave it to the executioner who asked for her pardon, she gave it gladly. Then she put her head on the block.

No blood, no tears, no false words of comfort. The executioner’s sword was taken from his scabbard and swung. A cold wind blew against her cheek as it felt down; a crow’s rotten caw was heard which brought a sense of dread followed by an awareness that her time was come and after this, she would know no more.

The blow was fast, the steel combined with the dragon glass covering the hilt that flew from the speed of her executioner’s movements made that second feel like an eternity. Her skin felt like it was it on fire. She did not have time to scream, only to think and she thought of Dante’s Divine Comedy, of the pits of lava, rivers of blood, and bodies burning and regenerating only to be burned again.

If there was a hell, this was it. The dread intensified when she realized that after this, there would be nothing. A meaningless void for which there was no escape. No one to bring her back, and no one to keep her alive there by remembering her.

Finally, it was all over. What had once been the beloved Princess of Wales, was now pure ash. People didn’t approach to collect it, or to cross themselves before they left the Tower. She had made her own bed and God would judge her now.

~o~

To think, how mundane her life would be if she had never run away? Her father would have probably gone on to marry one more time and beheaded another wife instead of focusing his attention on getting her back, and joining Jon Targaryen and the dragon queen. Mary would have been used as another bargaining tool for another powerful country and then disregarded.

She would have become as Kitty Howard foretold, “an old maid”. But I am not a maid any longer -she said to herself. It took her a while to realize she was speaking her thoughts out loud.

Looking down at her hands, she didn’t see porcelain skin or dead black nails. She looked around. She was surrounded by what could only be described as a garden of Eden. She ran towards the lake and looked at her reflection.

No crystalline blue eyes, no blood red lips or light red hair. The face that greeted her was of Mary Tudor, trueborn daughter of King Henry and Queen Katharine.

“How is this possible?” She brought her hands to her face to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She began to indulge in doubt again, trying to fit in some logic to what she was experiencing but she found it impossible.

She turned on her heels and ran towards the nearest manor. An smaller version of her father’s favorite residence; it had the same portraits like those at Hampton’s Great Hall. There were people that she didn’t know, others that she barely recognized because they were not as old as when they died. Some of them greeted her and she greeted them back, others looked like they would if she’d given them the chance.

There was only one person on her mind and that was her mother. If she could find her, she could justify herself to her. It would be like old times, with her mother gently chiding her while Mary listened, or rebelled.

This time I won’t rebel. I will hear to whatever she has to say and listen to her attentively. I will be the kind of daughter she always wanted me to be. She would go down on her knees and beg for her forgiveness, then swing her arms around her neck. But when she reached the Queen’s closet, her mother wasn’t there. She searched every other chamber and found other people there instead.

She began to panic and started yelling her name.

“She is not here.” A voice said. She turned and saw a young man whose hair had been kissed by the sun, and whose eyes were green as the grass she had her back against moments ago.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t answer her. “Your mother died thinking she saw you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Time has no power here. We can come and go as we please. It is a meaningless void.” He said, and she recognized him at once. “She has not arrived here yet.”

“But she died,”

“In your world she did, but her soul won’t cross until it sees you. Otherwise, she will be stuck as a ghost, ignored except for a few, until she finally gets her wish.”

“You showed me what lay beyond. It wasn’t like this. You said that is what awaited us after we died.”

“It does but there are exceptions, as there always are. I cannot tell you why, but that is the way it goes. You still have time to bring back your mother.” He gestured to a door. She hadn’t been through there yet. “See her and the two of you will be reunited.”

Mary looked at him warily. She had been lied so many times; she didn’t want to be made a fool again but the thought of seeing her mother outweigh all her worries.

She opened the door and entered a dusty and dirty room. Tapestries were being used as carpets and the fire had nearly consumed all the logs. It would go out at any minute. As she circled around the room, she saw the dying figure of her mother.

“Mary!”

“Mother!”

The two embraced each other. It felt surreal. Her mother then placed her arms on her cheeks. “It is really you. You’ve grown up so fast. I’ve missed you.” Mary could barely contain her tears.

Their moment was cut short when they heard Lady Darrell. She nodded when her mistress asked her if she saw her daughter. Katharine’s loyal lady-in-waiting hadn’t seen anything but she nodded her head like a good servant, because she didn’t want to break the dying queen’s illusions.

Mary watched her while she slept. She appeared when her servants weren’t there, and on her final day, she was there waiting for, extending her hand for her mother’s soul to take and lead her into the promised land.


End file.
